


Wraps and Four Other Short Stories

by Overdressedtokill (SkyeStan)



Series: The Roommates AU [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Alternate Universe - S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy, F/M, The John Garrett We Deserved Damn It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1649891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeStan/pseuds/Overdressedtokill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SHIELD Academy AU in which Grant Ward and Skye are put together as roommates due to a system error.  An error that turned into a friendship turns into a lot more.  A collection of short fanfictions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wraps and Four Other Short Stories

** Wraps **

The first thing Ward hears when he steps into the room is Skye, cursing from the bathroom.  It says something, probably, that he’s so used to Skye cursing at any given moment that he’s just accepted it without question.  He doesn’t think much of it, not until he puts his bag on his bed and gets a better look into the bathroom.  Skye’s left the door open and she’s perched on the counter, cradling her leg with one arm while trying to- is she trying to wrap her ankle?

“Skye?” Ward asks, startling her, “are you okay?”  Skye has the end of a roll of bandage tape held between her teeth.

“Mhmm,” she mumbles.  She’s trying to get a better angle on her leg, but every time she tries to move her ankle she winces. 

“What’s with the tape?” He asks.  She stops fidgeting with her leg long enough to pull the tape out of her mouth.

“I sprained my ankle,” Skye says, like it’s not a big deal, “obstacle course day.” 

  
  


Ward is in the bathroom doorway so fast that Skye actually startles.

“You’re hurt?” he asks.  She seems to shrink under his gaze, like she’s worried he’s mad at her.

“Not really,” Skye says.  She sticks her leg out.  “Just a sprain.  Nothing life threatening.”

“Do you know how to wrap a sprain?” Ward says.  Skye looks down at the bandages, then back to him.

“Well,” she says, “I mean, it can’t be that hard.”  Ward comes into the bathroom without asking.  It’s a small room, just big enough for two people to be able to function in.  Well, two Skye sized people.  Ward takes up too much space.  He’s practically looming over Skye when he takes the bandage tape from her.

“Let me tape it,” he says.

“It’s fine,” Skye says.  “I almost had it.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Ward says.

“You’re not going to leave this bathroom until my ankle’s taped,” Skye says, “are you?”

“Nope,” Ward replies.  Skye points to the offending ankle.

“Then get to wrapping,” Skye says, “if you must.”  He smiles at her.  He shouldn’t smile.  She’s got an injury, and he had no idea.  He was just wandering about, while Skye had been hurt.  He never would’ve stopped to get water if he’d known.  How could he have been so selfish?

  
  


“Why didn’t you text me?” Ward asks, dropping to his knees to better examine Skye’s ankle.  It’s swollen, but not bruised.

“Weren’t you in class?” Skye asks.  Ward looks up at her.  It’s a funny angle to see her from.  He wonders if this is what it’s like to be Skye, looking at him.  Always looking up.

“Yeah,” he says, “but it wasn’t anything important.”  He gently places two fingers to the side of her ankle and she whines in pain.

“Sorry,” he says, “just checking.”

“For gold?” Skye says, “it’s an ankle.”

“To see if it’s broken,” Ward says.  “Can you rotate it?”  Skye sucks in a breath and nods.  She turns her foot slowly, curling her toes.  When she turns her foot to the right, she lets out a gasp of pain and tightens her grasp on the countertop.

“That’s about as far as I can get it,” Skye says.  Ward rests his hand on her good leg, just for a second.  He does it without thinking, but the contact makes his fingertips spark.

“Sorry,” he blurts, “sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s fine,” Skye says, “I really didn’t mind.”  

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Ward says, “why didn’t you text me?  I would’ve come to get you.”

“You would’ve just left class.  For me,” Skye says.  She says it slowly, like she’s just making sure.

“Of course,” Ward says, “did you think I wouldn’t?”

Skye sighs, “I knew you would,” she says, “and I’m not worth your grades getting docked.”

“My grades are fine,” Ward says.  Because she said it was okay, and only because of that, Ward allows his hand to rest on her good leg.  When she adjusts her leg not out of his hand but into it, he lets himself slide his hand up her leg to her knee.  He rests his head against her leg, feeling the warmth of her skin against his cheek.

It feels safe.  It’s relaxing.  He almost forget why he’s sitting on the bathroom floor.

“I worry about you,” he tells her.  She places her hand over his.

“I know,” she says.  “I think you worry too much.”

  
  


“You’re special,” he tells her, “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”  She rubs her thumb over his knuckles.

“Do you mean ‘special’ in a one of a kind way or ‘special’ in a-” her voice drops to a whisper, “gifted way.”

“Both,” he says, “You’re trusting me to keep you safe.”

“I’m trusting you to be my friend, Ward,” she says, “not my bodyguard.  I can handle myself.”

“You sprained your ankle,” he notes.  

She scoffs. “Yeah, so what?  It was an accident on the stupid rope ladder.”

“How’d you get back to the room?” Ward asks.

“I limped.”  Ward frowns.  Skye rolls her eyes in response.  “What? Are you telling me you would’ve carried me back to our room?”

“If you’d needed me to!” he protests.  “Why didn’t you have someone take to you to the health center?”

“Coulson said I should stay away from SHIELD doctors,” Skye tells Ward, and he feels stupid for even asking.  “We had bandage tape under the sink.  I thought I could fix it myself.”

“Next time,” he says, “call me.  I’ll know what to do.”  Skye tucks her fingers under his hand.  He thinks she might protest, call him smothering or overbearing, and she’s not wrong and he’s not trying to be controlling he just needs to keep her safe-

“Okay,” she says, and squeezes his hand, “Next time, I’ll call you.”

“That’s all I ask,” he says.  Their eyes linger on each other for longer than he should.  He pats his hand on her knee, as if that will alleviate the tension building in his chest.

“I’m going to wrap your ankle to keep you from moving it too much,” Ward says, suddenly scrambling for the roll of bandage tape.  He misses the feeling of her skin on his, but tries not to let her know.

“You won’t need to keep it like this for long,” he continues, “but just humor me for the rest of the day.”

  
  


Ward’s wrapped his own ankles countless times, to the point where he should have it down to muscle memory; but Skye is smaller than him, drastically so, and when he brushes the bandage against the sole of her foot she giggles.

“You’re ticklish?” Ward asks.  

“A little,” Skye says, “but if you tickle me, I can’t promise I won’t kick you in the face.”  He smiles at her, which is an odd thing to do when threatened.  When he wraps the bandage a second time around her foot, he is careful not to brush his fingers against the balls of her feet.  If he tickled her, she might jerk her foot and make the sprain worse.  He’ll just have to keep that in his head for another day.

“You said you sprained it on the rope ladder, right?” Ward says.  He’s gotten to her ankle, and though she winces when he wraps it around her sprained spot she doesn’t tell him to stop.

“Yeah,” Skye says, “you make it look so easy.”  Ward pauses.  He looks up.  Skye’s staring down at him. The bathroom lighting is filtering through the strands of her hair and-he was going to ask her something?  About? The obstacle course.  Right.

“You’ve seen me run the obstacle course?” Ward asks, “when?”

“I dunno, a few times,” she says, swinging her free leg.  “You do physical drills a lot and I don’t have class on Tuesday afternoons so sometimes I go to the obstacle course to watch.”

“To watch me,” Ward says.  Skye smiles, and it would look bashful on anyone else.

“Not originally!” Skye says, “But when I realized that it was your class time, yeah, I went to watch you.  You’re pretty incredible.”  Ward wonders if he should be embarrassed or flattered or anything other than completely and totally incapable of forming even the most simple of sentences.

“Oh,” he says.  He’s not one for high praise.  Or any praise, really.  What is he supposed to say?  No, don’t watch me, it’ll make me nervous?  If I knew you were there, I’d work even harder to impress you?  Do you really think I’m incredible?”

“It’s so effortless for you,” Skye sighs, breaking Ward’s bubble of thought, “I get on the rope ladder and look at me.”  She gestures to her ankle.  Ward realizes that he hasn’t finished wrapping her ankle.  Shaking his head, he wraps the bandage around the sprain another time.

“The trick to the rope ladder is balance,” Ward tells her, staring firmly at the bandage and not at her face, “the more you move the more the ladder moves.  Then you try to move more to stay steady and-”

“You end up with a sprained ankle,” Skye says.  Ward finishes the wrap and pats her good leg.  Again.  It feels as awkward as it looks.

  
  


“Let me help you back to your bed,” Ward says.  He stands slowly.  His legs are stiff from sitting cross-legged for so long, but he’s quick enough to catch Skye by the shoulder when she tries to get off the counter.

“I can walk,” Skye protests, “I’m all taped up!”

“Put your arms around my neck,” Ward says.  Skye blinks up at him.  “Come on.” 

“You’re not carrying me like, three yards,” Skye says.  “I’m fine.”

“I am carrying you ‘like, three yards,’” he says.  He even raises his pitch on the last part, so that she knows he’s teasing her.  He can be funny.  He can!  She lifts her eyebrows at him.  That’s almost a laugh. 

“I can lift you even if you don’t wrap your arms around me,” he says.

“Fine,” Skye says, crossing her arms, “do it, tough guy.”  He shouldn’t even respond.  She just called him ‘tough guy,’ and that’s a clear sign to walk away from the situation.  

  
  


So he tucks one arm under her knees and wraps the other around her back, and he lifts her off the counter.

“Hey!” she says, “I said I was walking.”

“No,” Ward says, “you said I should try to lift you.”  He’s careful not to hit Skye’s head on the doorway as he carries her out of the bathroom.

“You’re ridiculous,” Skye says.  She’s still got her arms crossed, and she’s leaning her head against the crook of his arm.  She fits perfectly in his arms, pressed to his chest.  He wouldn’t have minded carrying her across campus like this, if she’d called him.  He wouldn’t have minded one bit.

“I’m just,” he says, placing her down on her bed, “I’m trying to take care of you.”

“You said that,” Skye says, “in so many words.”  She’s sprawled out on her bed, hair fanned around her head.  She looks up at him and he thinks he should turn on a light, or something.  The sun is setting, and the sunlight in the bedroom is fading fast.

“Sit,” Skye says, and he settles onto the floor beside her bed in an instant.  Skye rolls onto her side, runs her fingers in his hair.  He shuts his eyes.

“What are we going to do about dinner?” Skye says, “Are you going to carry me to dining?”

“Do you want me to?” Ward asks.

“Just bring me back something, whenever you go,” Skye says.  She’s quiet for a moment, and Ward focuses on the feeling of her nails against his scalp.

“Thanks for patching me up,” she says.  He leans his head back, so that it rests on her mattress.

“Of course,” he says.  “Anytime.”

 

\--

 

** Sleeper **

There is something stuck to Ward’s forehead.  His eyes are still closed, but he can feel it.  Two somethings, stuck above his eyebrows.  He’s not even fully awake yet. Why is there something stuck to his face?  He wrinkles his nose, his forehead, shuts his eyes more tightly, all in the hope that he will manage to dislodge whatever is on his face off his face without having to get out of bed.

“Oh, oh no, don’t do that-” says someone who is not Skye, but is definitely a girl.

“Is he waking up?” asks someone else, a boy.  There are strangers in his room.  Ward’s eyes snap open.  There are two elves looming over him.  He thinks they’re elves, at least.

  
  


Ward does what anyone with his SHIELD training would do: he lets out a shout of surprise, tries to get out bed, realizes his feet are tangled in his sheets, and rolls off the side of his bed and onto the floor.

“Ow,” he manages.

“Are you alright?” the girl asks.

“Are the EEGs alright?” the boy asks.

“Fitz!” the girl says.

“What?” replies the boy named Fitz, “he looks sturdy!  And the EEGs are expensive!”  Ward kicks off his sheets while Fitz and the girl argue.  Where is Skye?  Is she here?  Ward rises from the floor, and the two of them suddenly hush.  They stare at him, wide eyed.

“You’re tall,” says the girl.  “How tall are you?”

“Six-two,” Ward says.  The girl blinks up at him, and Ward wonders why he was so quick to answer.  The boy-the Fitz, is looking at Ward’s legs.  Not his legs.  Ward had been sleeping in a pair of boxer briefs.  Fitz is-Ward quickly grabs the sheet from the floor and wraps it around his waist.  Like a skirt.  Or a toga.

“Who are you guys?” Ward asks, when that should’ve been the first thing he did,  “And why are you sticking things to my face?”

  
  


“Oh,” the girl says, like she’s surprised he’s asking questions, “Fitz.” She’s pointing at the boy.

“Simmons,” Fitz says, pointing to the girl.  “I’m engineering, she’s biochem.”

“You’re loud as fuck is what you are,” Skye says.  The sound of her creaky morning voice startles Ward.  Two times in one morning.  He is jumpy today.

“Well we were being quiet,” Simmons says, “until the subject woke up.”

“Subject?” Ward asks.  His voice almost cracks.

“Sleep study,” Fitz says.  Ward is finally awake enough to hear that Fitz has an accent.  So does Simmons.  Different types of British.

“Why are you doing a sleep study on me?” Ward asks, “Why did no one ask if I wanted to be studied?”

“Skye said you were fine with it!” Simmons protests.

“Ugh, Simmons,” Skye groans.  She has the audacity to roll over.  After signing Ward up for a sleep experiment.  Without asking.

  
  


Maybe he’s sleep deprived.  Maybe he’s trying to make a statement to two strangers that you can’t just come into a boy’s room and perform studies on him.  Maybe he wants an excuse to give Skye a hard time.  Whatever it is, Ward sincerely thinks that the best thing to do is march over to Skye’s bed and pull back all her covers.

“Hey!” she shrieks, kicking at him, “put those back.”  He looks down at her, she looks up at him, and then she starts to giggle.

“Those things on your face look ridiculous,” Skye says.

“They’re not ‘things,’” Simmons says, pulling at Ward’s arm.  He didn’t even notice she was standing next to him.  Fitz is also next to him, grabbing at Ward’s shirt so that he’ll learn down.  Ward makes a noise to protest being pulled at, but they ignore him.

“They’re wireless EEGs,” Fitz says.  “Simmons, hold his head still?” Simmons has tiny, cold hands and they’re grabbing at Ward’s jaw while Fitz plucks the sticky things off of Ward’s forehead.

“This is much easier when you’re asleep,” Fitz says.

“I hope the readings come out alright for today,” Simmons says, “he moved around so much.”  They release him from their surprisingly tight grip, and Ward stumbles back.  Simmons goes for her bag, conveniently placed on Ward’s desk.

“It’ll have to do,” she says.  Skye’s swung her bare legs over her bed, kicking them carelessly in the air.  Fitz and Simmons keep chattering.  Something about brain waves and sleep cycles and how can two woodland creatures be so loud?

  
  


“Excuse me,” Ward says, louder than he needs to.  Three heads turn to look at  him.  He coughs.  He feels as though there’s a bug caught in his throat.  “Um.  Hi.”

“Hi?” Simmons says.  “Can we…help you?”

“Why are you running a sleep study on me?” he asks.  Fitz and Simmons look at each other, back to him, and then at each other again.

“Well,” Fitz says, rubbing at the back of his head, “Skye said you were a heavy sleeper.”

“The heaviest I’ve ever met!” Skye says.  Proudly.  Well, if she thinks it’s something to be proud of-no.  No, he is not going to just fall for her smile and her just-woke-up hair and her legs.  He will not!

“Don’t you have people who sign up for these things?” Ward asks.  Simmons smiles.  She’s almost embarrassed.

“Well, it’s funny, but-”

“No one in SciOps wants to sign up for our experiments,” Fitz continues, “which is silly, really-”

“But everyone seems so afraid of us!  And it’s just a sleep study, and we really, really needed to do it-”

“And we weren’t hurting you or putting anything in your water, it was harmless, really-”

“Wow,” Ward says, which silences Fitz and Simmons in an instant.  Which he feels guilty about.  They actually seem weirdly afraid of him, probably because of the height thing.  He doesn’t want them to fear him.  Even if they’ve been conducting sleep studies on him.  They’re so…small.  How is he supposed to stay mad at them?

  
  


“You looked cute, actually” Skye decides, “with those sticky thingys on your forehead.  Like little antennae.”  She wiggles her index fingers, making little horns.  Oh wait-not horns.  Little antennae.  That would make more sense.  It’s disarmingly charming.  Ward was thinking about something else, right?  Not about Skye her bed, wrinkling her nose at him.  Smiling.  Sitting there in her tank top.  Oh no, don’t think about the tank top.  He had been doing so well!  If he squints, he can kind of see the outline of her-

“Ward?” Simmons asks, “Ward, did we lose you?”

“Um,” Ward replies, “were you guys still talking?”  Fitz and Simmons look offended.  Which, by the way, they have no right to be-they’re the ones who were studying him in his  _sleep_!  He feels bad anyway.  They’ve obviously been working very hard on this.

“What did I miss,” Ward asks, mostly in a sigh.

“We were just wondering if we could study you a couple more nights,” Simmons says, smiling a little too hard.  Fitz mirrors it.  

“We desperately need the data,” Fitz says. “We had to start late, because we couldn’t find any subjects, and-”

“You’re an ideal subject, really,” Simmons babbles.  The two of them don’t seem to breathe, just chatter on and on about science.  He can’t zone out again.  Skye is looking at her split ends, twisting her hair around her fingers.  No!  Focus, Ward.  Focus!

  
  


“So, what do you think?” Fitz says.  Fuck.  He zoned out again.

“Sounds great!” Ward says.  Simmons claps her hands in excitement.  Fitz is grinning, not in the manic way, not like before, but he’s happy about something.  That makes Ward nervous.  He barely knows them.  And what did he just agree to?

“I’ll go get the cotton swabs!” Simmons announces.  “Be back in a tick!”  She grabs her bag with flourish, practically bouncing out of the room.  Fitz actually  _pats_ Ward on the arm, and doesn’t even notice the look Ward gives him.  Skye does, though, and she’s giggling to herself as Fitz follows Simmons out.

“What did I just agree to?” Ward asks.  Skye smiles in a way that is self-satisfied and entirely too pretty.

“Seriously?” Skye says. “Are you really that tired?”

“Um,” Ward says, “maybe? What are they going to do to me?”

“Oh, nothing,” Skye says, “they’re just going to ‘round out their data.’” She puts air-quotes around that last bit.  “You know, get your heart rate, a cell sample from your cheek, probably a blood sample, they’re definitely going to want you to pee in a cup-”

“It’s a  _sleep study!_ ” Ward insists.

“Hey, you agreed to it,” she teases.  Ward is regretting even opening his eyes this morning, really.  And to make matters worse, Skye takes his silence as a moment to stretch.  With her arms above her head and her back arched.  “And you know what I didn’t agree to?  Waking up early.”  She falls back into her bed.  “Tuck me in.”

“It’s ten,” Ward says.  Don’t look at her legs.  Don’t look at her boobs.  Look at her face.  Her sweet, sleepy face.

“If you fall asleep,” Ward says, “I’ll let Fitz and Simmons put EEGs on you.”

“Tuck me in, asshole,” Skye says.  He can’t say no to her.  Not when she looks up at him with half-lidded eyes.  And that smile.  The one she gives him in their quiet moments.  Like they’re both in on some deep, dark secret, but it’s okay because they have each other.  Maybe he’s projecting.  He pulls up Skye’s blankets.

“Something on your mind?” Skye asks, snuggling under her covers.  Too many things.  Way too many.  For starters-

  
  


“I have the cup!” Simmons exclaims, as the door slams into the wall.  She’s waving it around.  So they do want him to-well, fuck. Fitz is behind her, with an actual stethoscope.

“Hey, nerds,” Skye says, “take him back to your room.  I’m sleeping.”  Fitz and Simmons flock to Ward without asking, grabbing his wrists and pulling him towards the door.

“Can you give me a second to put pants on?” Ward asks.

“If you really need to,” Simmons says.

 

\--

 

** Virgin **

Grant Ward isn’t sure how he got here.  On his back.  With Fitzsimmons, as he called them.  Staring at the ceiling, while the two of them babbled on and on and ON about whatever was happening in Sci Ops right now.  Fitz’s going on about some kind of gun, which might be interesting, and Simmons is making the bullets for it.  Wait, no, she’s making the toxin that goes in the bullets.  Ward misses Skye.  He can understand her babble.  Plus, she doesn’t make him lay on the floor.  Well, no one is  _making_ him lay on the floor, but he certainly wouldn’t be comfortable laying on Fitz’s bed. 

“Do you think I’m good looking?” Ward asks the ceiling.

“What?” Simmons says, and suddenly she’s looming over him, blocking out the light with her head.  “Why would you ask that?”

“You’re too good looking, really,” Fitz says.  Now he’s leaning over Ward, too, his head touching Simmons’.  “You’re the cliché of what good looking is supposed to look like.”

“Thanks Fitz,” Ward adds.  He’d be worried about the subtext in that sentence last week, but he’s used to it by now.  He has no idea what Fitz is, or what Simmons is, or if they even have a categorizable sexual orientation.  Also, Ward only knows like, three orientations, so there’s that.

  
  


“But really, Ward,” Simmons asks.  “Why would you ever ask that?”

“Because he’s jealous,” Fitz replies.  They’re staring at him like he’s a specimen under a microscope.  Studying him.

“Jealous of what?” Simmons says.  “Oh, jealous of all those boys Skye-”

“I’m fine,” Ward says.  “It was just a question.”

“You’re burning with jealousy,” Fitz says.

“I don’t see why,” Simmons adds.  “You’re just as handsome as that last one.  What was his name?  He was tall and blond and-”

“Stephen,” Ward grumbles.  “Freshman.  SpecOps.”

“Oh,” Simmons says.  “Oh.  I see.”

“You see?” Fitz asks.

“I see,” Simmons replies.

“No one is seeing anything,” Ward tells them.  “I’m not jealous of Stephen.  He’s a terrible student.  Why would I be jealous of that?”

“Because he slept with Skye?” Fitz asks.  A question that is not actually a question.

“And you haven’t,” Simmons adds.  “Though everyone at this school knows you want to.”

“Wait,” Ward says, suddenly sitting up.  “Wait.  Everyone?”

“Even the teachers,” Fitz says.

  
  


This might mean that Coulson knows, too.  Ward shudders to himself at the thought.  Coulson had just brought coffee to the roommates, on Sunday morning.  Had Ward been experiencing symptoms of poisoning since then?  He tries to think back.  He seems okay.  Or maybe Coulson is giving him very low doses, and eventually Ward’s heart is just going to stop beating.  Maybe Coulson doesn’t know.  Coulson isn’t technically a teacher.

“Ward?” Fitz asks, “You still with us?”

“Do I look paler than usual?” Ward asks.

“Not at all,” Simmons says.  “You look fine.”

“Are there any poisons that work in low doses over a long period of time?” Ward says.

Simmons brings a hand to her chin.  “Well, yes-”

“Simmons,” Fitz interrupts.

“What?” Simmons says.  Fitz gives her a look, with raised eyebrows and widened eyes and a head tilt that Ward knows is totally in his general direction.  “Oh,” Simmons says.  “Right.”

“Guys?” Ward says.  “I might be dying here.”

“You’re fine,” Simmons decides.

“Never looked better,” Fitz adds.  “We were talking about Skye?”

“We were talking about Ward-and-Skye,” Simmons says.

“We were talking about Ward being in love with Skye, right?” Fitz says.

“Yes, we certainly were,” Simmons says.

“Guys!” Ward says.  “I know what we were talking about.”

“You should’ve just said so,” Fitz replies.  “Honestly, Ward.”

“I got a little off track,” Ward says.  “Since apparently everyone thinks I’m in love with Skye?”

  
  


FitzSimmons share another round of facial expressions with each other.  Ward wishes for the life of him that he could figure out what they’re saying.

“Everyone doesn’t think you’re in love with her,” Simmons finally says.  “Everyone knows.  We certainly know.  Don’t we, Fitz?”

“It’s pretty obvious,” Fitz says.  “You’re head over heels for her.”

“Over the moon,” Simmons adds.

“Hung up,” Fitz says.

“You’re practically besotted!” Simmons chirps.

“Okay, I don’t even know what that last one means,” Ward says, raising his hands in a sign for them to please stop talking.  “I get it, though.  I like Skye.  Happy?”

“You don’t have to use that tone,” Simmons says.  “We’re only trying to help.”

Ward lets out a sigh and runs his hand through his hair.  “I’m sorry,” he starts.

“Apology accepted,” Fitz says.

“I’m sorry,” Ward says again, with gritted teeth.  “And I was  _going_ to say that even if I did like Skye, it’s not like I would be able to do anything about it.  She’s not interested.”

  
  


This time, Ward catches on to the silent exchange between Fitzsimmons.  At least, he thinks he does.

“Guys?” Ward says.  “Something I should know?”

They look guilty.  The definitely look guilty.

“Well,” Simmons says.  “We shouldn’t tell you this.”

“We really, really shouldn’t tell you this,” Fitz says.

“She’ll kill us,” Simmons continues.

“Okay,” Ward says.  He hates to play this card, but if he doesn’t find out he will literally rip his own hair out.  “So she kills you, or I do.  Your call.”

They laugh at him.  They giggle like little schoolchildren.  He’s doomed.  Not just in romance, but in life.  This just seals it.

“You can’t tell her we told you,” Simmons says.  Apparently a good laugh is excuse enough for them to open up.

“But Skye fancies you,” Fitz says.  “She’s fancied you since she moved in.”

“She knows you like her,” Simmons says.

Ward’s lungs shrivel up and die, right then and there.  Or maybe he does.  It’s hard to tell.

“She does?” he says, in a voice higher than it should be.

“Oh yes,” Simmons says.  “She’s been trying to get you to move in for ages, Ward.  She’s going to strangle you if you don’t cave soon.” 

All Ward can picture is Skye straddling his lap, her tiny hands wrapped around his neck.  Fuck.  No, don’t think of that.  Oh God, what sounds do words make?  How does talking work?

  
  


“Ward?” Fitz asks, for the second time today.  “Are you alright?”

“No?” Ward says.  “I don’t-I?”

“Honestly, I think she should just make the first move,” Simmons says.  “But she thinks you’re fragile.”

That hits like cold water.  “Wait,” Ward says.  “She thinks I’m  _fragile?_ ”

“Well not physically,” Simmons says.  “But emotionally.  She worries about you, you know.”

“She doesn’t want to push you into anything,” Fitz says.  “She’s not sure you’re comfortable with the idea of having casual sex.”

“Or sex at all, really,” Simmons says.  She leans in close.  Like they’re conspiring.  “You don’t know this, but she thinks you might be a virgin.”

Ward bites the inside of his cheek. He might as well just say it.  “I am,” he says.

“You’re what?” Fitz asks.

“A virgin,” Ward whispers.  “I’m a virgin.”

“Oh,” Simmons says.  “Oh.  That certainly changes things.”

“Yeah,” Ward says.  “I guess it does.”

  
  


Fitz sits down next to Ward first, pats him on the back, and then actually wraps one skinny arm around Ward’s waist.  Like Ward isn’t still reeling from being slapped on the back.  And then Simmons does the exact same thing.   He’s got two tiny scientists on either side of him, their tiny heads on his shoulders and their tiny arms around his waist.

“Um,” Ward says, like an adult.

“I think you’re being to hard on yourself, really,” Fitz says.  “I think it’s sweet that you want to wait.  You didn’t strike me as the type, but-”

“Guys,” Ward says.

“But I’m sure Skye would be willing to respect that if you just told her, not wanting to have sex is a perfectly viable-” Simmons continues.

“Guys,” Ward says again.

“Option.  Plenty of people are like that, what a silly thing to be worried-”

“Guys!” Ward announces.  “I’m not waiting.  I mean, maybe I am.  It’s not like, I don’t know?  I’m not waiting for marriage, it’s just that sex never really been an option for me.”

Fitz looks at him.  Simmons looks at him.

“Never an option?” Simmons asks.

“Have you seen you?” Fitz adds.

“I didn’t always look like this,” Ward grumbles.  “And it’s not that simple.”

“Well, okay,” Simmons says.  “Explain it to us, then.”

“Do I have to?” Ward asks.

“Do you want to be with Skye?” Fitz asks back.  “Your call, mate.”

  
  


Ward slumps his shoulders.  “I want it on the record that I hate this,” Ward says.

“What record?” Simmons asks.

“I-” Ward says.  “Never mind.”

“You’re so odd,” Fitz says.  “Skye’s stories really don’t do you justice.”

“What stories?” Ward asks.

“Not important,” Simmons says.  “We were talking about your virginity?”

Ward pauses for a beat.  He’s waiting for a bolt of lightning to strike him, indoors, and put him out of his misery.  No such luck.

“It’s not something I like to announce,” Ward says.  “I’m not even twenty, guys.  I don’t see why it’s that big of a deal anyway.”

“It wasn’t,” Simmons says.

“Until you fell for Skye,” Fitz says.

Ward frowns.  “Yeah,” he says.  “Until I fell for Skye.”

“Which was?” Simmons asks.

“Week two of academy,” Ward mumbles.

“You poor thing,” Simmons says.

Ward shakes his head.  “It’s not like that.  I don’t care about sex.  Well, I do, but I care about her more.  And it’s not like I woke up and realized how I felt.  I just wanted to keep her safe, is all.”

“You’re in love with her, though,” Simmons says.

“So this semester can’t have been easy on you,” Fitz adds.

“But she’s had a great semester,” Ward says.  “And that’s more important.”

“Her happiness doesn’t have to come at the cost of yours,” Fitz says.  “Did no one ever teach you that?”

“Guess not,” Ward says.  His tone is low enough to create a ripple of concern.

  
  


“Okay,” Simmons says.  “Okay, I have a plan.  Stand up.”  

She stands first, bouncing to her heels with grace.  Fitz follows, and Ward takes an extra second to pull himself back up to his feet.  He doesn’t understand why they want him standing.  He towers over them.  They look up at him, and if he wasn’t nervous before, he definitely is now.

“We’re going to help you get Skye,” Simmons says.  “She likes you, you like her, you should be together!”

“Can’t I be sitting for that?” Ward asks.

Simmons crosses her arms.  Point made.

“I really don’t think this is necessary,” Ward says.  “I mean, she thinks I’m fragile.  And I’m in no way as experienced as she is, so she’ll probably just laugh at me if I tried to have sex with her, and-”

Simmons makes a noise that is something like an aggressive bird chirp.  Ward blinks down at her.

“None of that,” she says.  “None of that from you, Ward.”

“Everyone starts somewhere,” Fitz says.  “Simmons and I were virgins before we met.”

“So then you two are a thing?” Ward asks. 

They shrug. “We’re a lot of things,” Fitz says.

“A lot,” Simmons agrees.

“Time out,” Ward says.

“We haven’t started yet,” Fitz tells him.

Ward ignores him.  He feels a weight pulling his heart down.  They can’t plan this whole thing.  Not for him.

“I can’t be ‘a lot of things,” he says.  “I can’t have sex with Skye and then see her having sex with other guys.  It’s stupid, but this whole…sex thing.  It means something to me, okay?  And it doesn’t have to mean anything for her.  It shouldn’t, if she doesn’t want it to.  I can’t ask her to carry my problems.”

“Wow,” Simmons says.

“Wow,” Fitz agrees.

“You are a gentle soul,” Simmons says.  She pats his cheek.  “Don’t worry.  We’re here to help.”

He doesn’t feel any less worried.

  
  


“Okay,” Ward says, slowly.  “So what’s the plan?”

Simmons gives a bright smile.  Never a good sign.  “We’re going to walk you through your sordid confession.  I’ll be Skye-”

“Why can’t I be Skye?” Fitz asks.  “I think I could play a very convincing Skye.”

Simmons nods.  “Fitz will be Skye,” Simmons says.

“Wait, why?” Ward says.  “Why is Fitz going to be Skye?”

“Tell me you love me,” Fitz says.

“No!” Ward says, and he maybe looks more scandalized than he should.

“I really hope you don’t say that to Skye,” Simmons says.  “You would’ve just broken her heart, there.”

“You did,” Fitz says.  “You broke my heart.”

“What am I supposed to be doing, here?” Ward asks.

“Tell Skye you love her,” Simmons says.  “Wasn’t that obvious?”

“Not really,” Ward says.

“Try again,” Simmons says.  “Fitz is Skye.  Give it your best shot.”

Ward takes in a deep breath.  He looks down at an expectant Fitz.  “Skye,” he starts.

“Yes, Ward?” Fitz says.

“Okay, wait, can you not talk when I’m trying to do this?” Ward says.

“You can’t tell her not to talk,” Simmons says.  “That’s downright rude.”

“I’m hurt,” Fitz says, bringing a hand to his chest.  “He’s hurt my feelings and I don’t love him anymore.”

“Skye, I’minlovewithyou,” Ward blurts out, if only to get it over with.

Fitz looks back up at Ward and bats his eyelashes.  “What was that, Ward?” he asks.

“I said,” Ward is nervous, actually nervous, and this is only a simulation. “Skye, I’m in love with you.”

Fitz lets out a noise that is probably supposed to sound like girlish delight, and wraps his arms around Ward’s neck.

“I thought you’d never say it,” Fitz says.  “Kiss me, Ward.”

“I’m not kissing you, Fitz,” Ward says, standing there with his arms hanging at his sides.

“You were doing so well, too,” Simmons says, with a sigh.

Fitz drops his arms.  “Maybe it would help him if I put on a dress,” Fitz suggests.

“A dress could be helpful,” Simmons says.

“Maybe we should all put on dresses,” Fitz adds.

“That does sound like a good plan,” Simmons decides.

“I’m not wearing a dress,” Ward tells them.  “Guys, I’m not putting on a dress.  I don’t even understand why you think I should.”

“It’s for science,” Simmons says.  “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I thought this was about me and Skye?” Ward asks.  “Guys?”

“Well if you’re still hung up on that,” Fitz says.  “Then fine.”

“Tell him again,” Simmons say.  “Be less wooden this time.”

“Skye,” Ward says, now confused and a bit worried about the fact that he might have to wear a dress, “I love you.  I’ve been in love with you for a while, and you don’t have to love me back, but I think you deserve my honesty, and that’s honestly how I feel about you.”

  
  


Simmons claps.  “Beautiful!” she says.

“Brought a tear to my eye,” Fitz agrees.

“Now, about the sex,” Simmons says.  “We should rehearse that.”

“I just-” Ward says.  “I just said I wasn’t comfortable having sex with her.”

“She’s probably going to want to have sex with you, though,” Fitz says.  “After a confession like that.  I know I do.”

Would she?  Would she really?  Would she actually throw her arms around his neck, and kiss him right there?  Is he blushing?  He feels like he’s blushing.

“But then what?” Ward says.  “I can’t use her like that.”

“She’s using you, I think,” Simmons says.

“That doesn’t help,” Ward says.

“You don’t know if she’s going to just kick you to the curb,” Fitz says.  “She likes you a lot.  I could see her dating you.”

“I don’t want her to do anything she’s not comfortable with,” Ward says.  “I don’t even think I need to tell her how I feel.  It’s just going to annoy her.”

“You are going to tell her how you feel,” Simmons insists.  “And I promise it will not annoy her.”

“She’s pretty head over heels for you too, Ward,” Fitz says.

“Really?” Ward asks.

“Absolutely!” Fitz says.  He punctuates this by giving Ward another sturdy slap on the back.

“I have the utmost faith in you,” Simmons says.  “But just to be sure.  Let’s run through it again.”

“With dresses?” Ward asks.

Simmons claps her hands.  “Thank you for reminding me!” She scurries off to her closet.  Ward sighs for what feels like an eternity.  But.  But.

  
  


Skye likes him.  She’s  _head over heels for him._ And if he’s smiling, it might be because he’s never felt this happy in his whole life.

 

\--

 

** Swim **

“You’re staring again,” Skye teases.

Ward hadn’t noticed.  He’d been out of focus.  She’d been doing her homework, cross legged on her bed, notebook perched on her laps.  She would scrunch her nose and tap her pencil against paper, chew on her hair, shift her legs and stretch.  And he would stare without meaning to, until his world went fuzzy.  It’s happened before.  It’s been happening more often.

“Sorry,” he says.  “I was-”

“Daydreaming?” she asks.  Her teeth aren’t perfect but they’re always so white, a little crooked in the front and- “Ward.  Holy crap.  Are you high, or something?”

He blinks.  Head over heels.  Head over heels.  Now could work.  Say something.  Say something!

“I’m exhausted,” he says.

“That’s new,” she says.  “But not unexpected.”

“What?” he replies.

She shifts, again.  Hugs her knee to her chest.  At least it’s getting colder.  At least it’s leggings, black, and not shorts.  Short.

“You’re always working out or doing homework or like, saving orphans and kittens from burning buildings,” Skye says.  She twists a lock of hair around her finger.  “You’re bound to run out of steam.”

“Yeah,” he says.  “I guess I am.”

  
  


Then she gives him one of her up-to-no-good grins, and he feels his stomach drop.

“I mean,” she says.  “I guess you’re too tired to go to this totally awesome thing I was planning to do with FitzSimmons tonight.”

Oh no.  Oh, no.  “What thing?” he asks.

“Well, I know you’re anti-fun,” Skye starts, drawing out her words like she always does when she’s about to suggest something bad.

“I’m anti-breaking the law,” Ward says.  “I like fun.  I love fun.  I live for fun, really.”

She smiles, and it is like he’s forgotten how to speak.  “Sure, nerd,” she says.  “But really.  Don’t freak out.”

“I really hate when you use that as a preface,” he says.

“We’re going to sneak into the pool and go for a swim.  It’s heated all winter, and no one uses it!”  She is on the edge of her bed, now, all excitement and flourish.  “It’s going to be amazing.”

  
  


He has gone still.  His hands are balled into fists.  He’s in space, again.  Staring off.  It’s a different space, this time.

“Ward?” Skye asks.  “Grant?”

He shakes his head.  His shoulders.  He tries to bring his whole body back to life.

“I’m not one for swimming,” he says.

She’s pursed her lips.  Both legs down, feet on the floor.  She rests her elbows on her knees, knits her fingers together.  She screams ‘I am concerned’ with her body, and that is the exact opposite of what he wanted.

“Is that it?” she asks.  “Or is there more?”

His eyes fall to his own knees.  Secrets became a rarity sometime between her admitting she was gifted and him telling her he’d carry her across campus.

“I don’t like pools,” he says.  “Oceans.  Lakes.  Reservoirs.”

“What are your feelings on quarries?” she asks.

He looks up, and she is offering him a smile.  He tries to give her one back.  “No quarries, either.”

“Hydrophobia?” she asks.

“I don’t have phobias,” he says.  “I just don’t like being near water.”

“That’s-” she says.  “It’s okay.  You don’t have to come out.”

He must look pretty sad, in that moment, because she actually gets up from her bed and comes over to his.  She sits down next to him and wraps a slender arm around his shoulders.

“You can tell me more, if you want,” Skye says.  “I’ll understand.”

“I want to come with you guys,” he says.  He’s tracing his fingers against her back without meaning to.  “It’s just-I had a really bad experience.”

“When?” she asks.

  
  


There are too many answers.  So he swallows most of them and says, “Last year.”  She nestles against him.  Her hair brushes his hand as his fingers climb her back.  “It’s a stupid thing that the spec-ops kids do but-” he reaches the nape of her neck and strokes her skin.  She lets out a light sigh without meaning to.  “They threw me in the pool and I-” you can do this, you can do this.  “I freaked out.”

She looks up at him.  “Why?” she asks, quietly.

“I,” he says.  “It’s a long story.”

“I have time,” she says.  “We could stay in.  You could talk.  I’ll just listen, if you want.”

He could talk to her.  Tell her everything.  Absolutely all of it.  He’s not ready.  He wants to be, for her.  But he just isn’t.  “I thought you wanted to go swimming,” he says.

“I want to hang out with you,” she says.

He could kiss her, right now.  It would be wildly inappropriate in context, a breach of her trust, a disregard for what she wants.  She’s so close that he’s practically aching.  But no.  Her happiness first.  Her happiness always.

“I want you to go swimming,” he says.

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” she replies.

“Then I’ll come with you,” he says.

She tightens her grip on his shoulder.  “I don’t want you to force yourself,” she says.  “Grant, you don’t ever have to force yourself to do anything for me.”

She has no idea.  “Maybe I need a good experience,” he says.  “With a pool.  Maybe I just haven’t gotten the chance to have one, yet.  This could be that chance.”

“Are you sure?” she says.  “If you’re not comfortable with it-”

“I’ll adjust,” he says.  “I mean, I was uncomfortable with having a female roommate, and I adjusted.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have a phobia of women,” Skye says.  “Do you?”

“I don’t have a phobia of women,” he says.

“Good,” she says.  “Because that would be really awkward.”

Right.  It’s not awkward at all right now.  Just two roommates, sitting super close to each other.  Just Skye and Ward.  She lifts her chin, smiles at him.

“I’m proud of you,” she decides.

“I haven’t done anything,” he says.

“You’re facing your fears,” she says.  “And so I’m proud of you.”

Kiss her kiss her don’t kiss her definitely kiss her she’s right there, fucking hell, “I’m not-”

  
  


Skye’s phone pings on her bed.  Her head leaves the crook of Ward’s arm, as she pulls herself off the bed and out of Ward’s reach.  He notices that his hand is still in the air, where it was when it was tangled in her hair.  He clamps his hand back down onto his knee before she can notice.

“Simmons says one am,” Skye says.  “For pool shenanigans, I mean.  You’re in?”

“Like, one am tonight?” Ward says.

“Yeah,” Skye says.  “I can tell them no.”

“I’m in,” he says, hoping he at least sounds confident.

“Okay,” she says.  Her fingers dash across her phone.  “You should try to sleep before we go,” she continues.  “Since I know you like getting your eight hours.”

“Are you going to bed?” Ward asks.

Skye shakes her head.  “I’ve got to stay up and finish my homework for History of SHIELD.”  She curls her lip in disgust.

“That class is pretty awful,” Ward says.  “And if you’re not sleeping, I’m not.”

Skye can only roll her eyes.  “Ward, seriously.  Get some rest.  I’ll wake you up when it’s time to go.”

He’s not that tired, but she’s got a point.  If he doesn’t sleep now, he’ll be tired when they go down to the pool.  And thats…not a good plan, for him.  He should be as awake as possible, for that.

“Try to sleep, if you can,” he tells Skye.  “I’ll finish your homework for you, if you get too tired.”

“Professor Vaughn will recognize your handwriting, doofus,” she says.

“Forgery class,” Ward says.  “Spec ops, second semester.”

“You aced it?” Skye asks.

“I got a B+,” Ward says.  “But you only need to be so clever to fool Vaughn.”

“You’ve got a point,” Skye says.  “But for real.  Power down, robot.”

He falls back onto his bed and rolls onto his side.  Facing the wall.

“Roll over,” Skye asks.

“What?” he says.

“You always look so peaceful when you’re sleeping,” Skye says.  “It’s relaxing.”

He does as she asks.  He stares at her for a moment, half his face buried in his pillow.

“Night, Ward,” she tells him.

“Night,” he says, and shuts his eyes.

  
  


Skye’s small hand grasps his shoulder, to wake him, and he comes out of of sleep like he’s rising from the grave.  He grabs her wrist, tightly, too tightly, and she’s saying something.

“Ward?” she asks.  “Grant?  You okay?  Do you want to go back to sleep?

He must’ve been having a nightmare, but he can’t remember the details.  He takes that as a good thing.

“I um,” he says.  He lets go of her wrist.  “I’m fine.”  He runs his hand through his hair.  He’s sitting up, now, trying not to stare too long at the concerned face Skye’s giving him.  She’s turned off all the lights, but the moonlight’s glowing on her skin like it always does.

“Are you sure?” she says.

He’s falling into her eyes, dark save for the moonlight.  He’s falling, he’s falling.

“Just a bad dream,” he says.  “I promise.”

“You still want to go swimming?” she asks.  She’s touching his arm, again.  Softly.  “I’ll tell them you don’t want to, if you don’t.”

He takes a deep breath.  He pulls the covers back.  “I want to go swimming,” he says.  “I want to go swimming, with you.”

She breaks into a grin that lights up every part of him.  Her light touch turns into a hand holding his wrist, soft and warm.  “Come on, then,” she says.  “Let’s go.”

  
  


FitzSimmons are waiting for them by the pool doors, in their matching pajama sets.  Ward would point out that they don’t even room together, but quite honestly he’s not even sure if that’s true.

“So,” Skye says, in a half whisper.  “Am I picking the lock, or-”

“I can pick it,” Ward announces.  Skye elbows him in the ribs.

“Aren’t you supposed to be trained in the art of stealth, spec-ops?” she says.  “No loud noises.”

“Sorry,” he whispers back.  “But I am a pretty good lock pick.”

“I guarantee I’m better,” Skye says.  “I didn’t even have to take a class on it.”

Ward looks down at her.  “Neither did I,” he says.  She looks surprised.  Surprised, but…fond.

“You’ll have to tell me about that,” she says.

“Could you two stop flirting?” Fitz says.  “You’re going to miss it.”

Before Ward can protest that he was definitely not flirting, what even is flirting, there is no flirting going on here this is a zero flirtation zone, Skye says, “Miss what?”

“The SKELETON key,” Fitz says.  He’s holding what must be it, though it looks like a screwdriver.  Ward reaches for it, only for Fitz to snatch it back.  “No touching!” Fitz says.  “It’s only a prototype!”

“It’s very impressive,” Simmons adds.

“Aw, Simmons,” Fitz says.  “It’s not much, really, it’s just-”

“Are we going to go swimming?” Skye interrupts.  “Because I thought we were going to go swimming.”

Fitz mumbles something under his breath about unappreciated genius, but sure enough, his screwdriver-thing gets the door open with hardly any trouble.

“It shouldn’t make the lock smoke,” Fitz says.  “I’ll have to work on that.”

“What’s a minor fire here and there?” Simmons asks, and she genuinely means it.  “It works almost perfectly so far!”

“God, you guys are such nerds,” Skye teases.  Fitz and Simmons look at her, then each other, and muster up a tandem shrug.  “Come on,” Skye continues.  “I’ve been waiting all night for this.”

  
  


Ward tells himself that the blue glow of the pool does not make him uneasy.  He tells himself this multiple times, but he can’t help the dread creeping up his spine.  The water is right there.  Right in front of him.  He just has to jump in.  Skye puts her hand on his bicep.  

“Hey,” she says.  “You okay?”

“It’s so dark in here,” Ward says.

Skye strokes her hand along his arm.  It’s good for him.  It makes the dread go quiet.  It makes him breathe easier.

“I mean, that’s kind of the fun of it,” Skye says.  “The pool’s lit, so we don’t really need anything else.  Unless you want to turn the lights on?”

He can do this.  He is nineteen years old and he can do this.

“I’m good,” he says.  “If it’s part of the experience, then I’m good.”

She tugs on his arm.  He looks down on cue, into her worried eyes.  “We can stop right now,” she says.  “We can go back to bed.”

“I’m staying,” he tells her.  “I need to do this.”

“Okay,” she tells him.  “I trust your judgement.”

There’s a splash in the pool.  Another.  Ward looks down at his clothes.

“Crap,” he says.  “I forgot to grab a swimsuit.”

Skye hides her remaining worries under an electric grin.  “Who said anything about bathing suits?” she asks.  In one swift motion, she pulls her tank top over her head.

  
  


“Come on,” Skye says, unhooking her bra.  “You’re among friends.”

Don’t look at her boobs don’t look at her boobs don’t-oh, God, they look just like he’s always imagined.  She’s taking off her pants, her underwear, kicking them to the side.

“Take your time getting in, okay?” she asks.  She is naked.  She is completely naked.  Holy fuck.  Holy fuck.  He’d almost said no to this?  Had he been out of his mind?

“Now’s fine,” Ward says.  Taking off his shirt is no small effort, as it seems to have shrunk and where do his arms go and how does a neck work?  Skye’s hands are on top of his, helping him out of his horrible trap of a shirt.

“Easy there,” she says.  “Don’t want to ruin your shirt.”

He hears a rip.  He definitely just ripped his shirt.  Fuck it.  Go with it.  Skye is naked.  Look cool.  For once in your life, look cool.  “I have more,” he says.  She laughs.

“Good to know,” she tells him.  He discards his shirt.  Okay.  Pants.  She’s going to see your…well, your business.  You can do this.  You’re an adult.  You’re in spec-ops.  You’re cool, okay?!  You are cool and you can do this.  He hooks his thumbs under the elastic and pulls down his pajamas.

“You can keep your underwear on if you’re uncomfortable,” Skye says.  “This is a big night for you.”

  
  


Do it.  Do it.  You can do it, Grant Ward.  He slides his underwear down his legs.  Someone whistles in the pool.  He thinks it’s Fitz.  He turns to look at the water, again, and there’s  FitzSimmons, staring up at him, heads cocked to the side.

“Quite nice,” Simmons says.

“Very,” Fitz agrees.

“Let him be, guys,” Skye says.  “Also, get out of my way.”

They paddle back, and Skye jumps into the pool in one fluid motion.  He watches her hair fly back, her back arch, her toes touch the water and then she’s under.  He waits, for a moment, until her head breaks water.  She slicks her wet hair back and smiles at him.

“You’re already naked,” Skye says.  “You can do it.”

“Come on, Ward!” Simmons cheers.  “Get in the pool!”

He swallows.  He jumps.  He is aware that everyone is probably looking at his dick, and he’d be more self conscious if water wasn’t everywhere, all around him, breathe out, Ward, you can do this.  His feet touch the bottom of the pool and he springs up, up-he takes in air, gulps of it.  He’s in the water.  He’s in the water, and he can do this.  Open your eyes, Ward.  Open your eyes.

  
  


Skye stares at him, big brown eyes and wet skin and pink lips and a naked body in blue water.

“You did it,” she says.  She’s proud of him.  He’s proud of himself.

“I did,” he says, churning water, kicking his legs.  Easy.  It’s easy, to smile back at her, to gulp as she swims over.  He hears Simmons shriek, somewhere else in the water, then laugh, then Fitz shrieks.  But Skye.  He can’t take her eyes off of her.

“How do you feel?” she asks.  Her body is so close to his.  They’re naked.  At the same time.  Separated only by water and his self doubt.

“Good, I think,” he says.  “I’m…this is big, for me.”

Her arms wrap around his neck.  If he moved forward, his body would be pressed against hers.  Holy fuck.  Holy fuck.

“You’re brave,” Skye tells him.  He’s looking at her lips.  He can’t help it.  He moves closer.  Almost there.  “You’re amazing, actually.”

“You think so?” he asks.

She tilts her head up.  “I know so,” she says.  “Ward?” she asks.  And she presses herself flush against him, and the world around him fades.  He closes his eyes.  Her breath is on his lips.  You can do this.  You’ve come so far.  His lips brush against hers and-

  
  


Skye cries out in surprise as the lights come on.  Ward’s eyes snap open.  Oh fuck.  Oh, fuck.  There’s a janitor, there, with a mop bucket and a broom and a very shocked expression.

“You kids aren’t supposed to be in here,” the janitor says.

“Really?” Fitz says, still churning water.  “I had no idea.”

  
  


There’s so many things that Ward could be embarrassed about, right now.  First, the janitor didn’t even give them time to get their clothes, so now he’s sitting in Fury’s office in a towel.  Fury, who was obviously woken up just to discipline them, and is now staring at the four students in his office with some mix of misery and utter disdain.

“So,” Skye starts.  “Are you gonna discipline us, or-”

Fury holds up his hand.  “Ten seconds,” he says.  He sounds exhausted.

Fitz tilts his head.  “What happens in-”

“Five seconds,” Fury interrupts, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Ward looks around the room.  “Five seconds until-”

“You have absolutely no right to bring her in here!” shouts none other than Agent Phil Coulson, slamming the door open with such force that the pictures on the wall shake.  “Is this to get back at me?  Is that what this is?”

Ward jumps out of his seat as a common curtesy.  “Sir,” Ward starts.  “This is entirely-”

“Your fault, I’m sure,” adds John Garrett, who smiles at Ward.  “Like anyone would buy that.  Sit down, kid.  It’s fine.”

Skye’s dad and Ward’s mentor are going to know they were skinny dipping together.  Maybe Garrett will stop Coulson from strangling Ward.  Hopefully.  John seems happy enough.

“I know you never wanted kids,” Phil continues, loudly, pointing an accusing finger at Fury, “but this is ridiculous.”

“They broke into the pool and were skinny dipping after hours,” Fury says.  He doesn’t sound very concerned.

“Oh, please,” Phil says.  “Remember what we used to get up to?  Skinny dipping is nothing, Nick, and you know that.”

Ward shoots John a quizzical look.  John winks back.

“Wait,” Ward whispers to Skye.  “Coulson and Fury. They’re a thing?”

“Oh my god,” Skye says.  She elbows him lightly in the ribs.  “You’re so oblivious.”

“-and maybe if the pool had more flexible hours, they wouldn’t need to break in!” Coulson continues.  “I mean, really!  Is it Skye’s fault that she wanted to go for a swim?”

Fury sighs.  “Technically-”

“Of course it isn’t, Nick!  This is just another example of this school failing her.  I heard that she twisted her ankle on the obstacle course, you know.  I thought this was SHIELD Academy.  I thought this school _mattered,_ ” Phil gestures wildly with his arms.  John is biting down on his knuckles to keep from laughing out loud.  “But I guess she’s just a cog in the machine to you.  My protege, and this is how you treat her.”

  
  


“Get out of my office,” Fury groans.  “All of you.  Just, get out of my office and go to sleep.”

“Ridiculous,” Phil scoffs, under his breath.  He puts a reassuring hand on Skye’s shoulder.  “Come on,” he tells her.  “Let’s get you back to bed.”

“So that’s it?” Fitz asks.  “Simmons has been panicking for the past fifteen minutes, and you’re just letting us go?”

Fury levels his gaze at Fitz.  “It’s Leopold Fitz, right?”

“Fitz is fine,” Fitz says.

“Fitz,” Fury says, slowly.  “Do you want a punishment?”

“No sir!” Simmons interrupts.  “Oh no, we do not.”

“Then get out of my office,” he says.  “And stop lighting fires in the Sci-Ops building.”

“Oh, sir,” Simmons says.  “A little fire never-” Fury stares blankly at her until she gulps.  “Right.  Minimal fire damage, sir.  Goodnight.”

“Out,” Fury says.

  
  


John catches Ward halfway down the hall, as Ward nervously clutches at his towel and pads back to the dormitories.

“Kid,” Garrett says.  “Got a minute?”

“You’d start talking even if I didn’t,” Ward says.

“Oh shut up,” Garrett tells him.  “We need to have a chat, you and I.”

Ward sucks in a deep breath.  “Whatever it is,” Ward says.  “I can take it.”

Garrett knits his brow in concern.  He frowns.  “Ward,” Garrett says.  “Come on.  You’ve known me for a year, now.  I’m not going to punish you.”

Ward lets the tension out of his shoulders.  He hadn’t even noticed the stiffness, the set jaw, until that moment.

“It’s habit,” Ward says.

“I know,” John tells him.  He looks older, when he gets sad.  “And I know how you feel about water.”

“Skye invited me,” Ward says.  “I didn’t want to turn her down.”

“Skye’s your roommate, yeah?” Garrett asks.  “Is she the British one or the-”

“Dark haired one,” Ward says.

“You still haven’t introduced us,” Garrett says.  “It’s almost like you’re embarrassed of me.”

Ward lets himself snicker.  “Why on earth would you think that, sir?”

Garrett sticks his tongue against the skin of his cheek, a sort of not-smile that  he always gives when Ward gives him a hard time.  He chuckles to himself.  “Listen, shithead.  I’m trying to tell you that I’m proud of you.”

Ward balks without meaning to, prompting John to pull him into a half-hug.  “Sir?” Ward asks.

“You faced your fear,” John says.  They’re walking again, John with his arm slung over Ward’s shoulder.  “Multiple fears, if I’m thinking about it.”

“I just wanted to have fun with my friends,” Ward says.

“God, kid,” John says.  “I have waited so long to hear you say that.”

“Have you?” Ward asks.

“I figured having a girl roommate would throw you, but this,” John fondly shakes his head.  “This really is something else.”

“Skye’s amazing,” Ward says, without meaning to.  “She’s perfect.”

“Multiple fears,” John says.  “You did let her see you naked.”

“She started it,” Ward protests.  “She took off her clothes first.”

“You’re not fooling anyone,” John adds.

Ward’s smiling now, and he barely registers it.  “I know, sir.”

“You should just go for it, Ward,” John says.  “You’re braver than you think you are.”

“But,” Ward says.  “I’m a-well, you know-”

“Humans have been having sex for thousands of years, Ward,” Garrett says.  “I promise, you will figure it out.”

“What if I’m not good enough?” Ward asks.  “What if I disappoint her?”

“It’s your first time,” John says.  “No one is expecting you to be perfect.”

“I just want to make her happy,” Ward says.  “She’s amazing.”

“You said that already,” John points out.  He clicks his tongue.  “Do you really not see how much she cares about you?  The way she looks at you?”

“How does she look at me?” Ward asks.

John gives Ward’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.  “The same way you look at her, kid.”

“Really?” Ward asks, in a voice higher than it should be.

John laughs.  “Yeah, really,” John says.  “God.  Look at you.  Breaking rules.  Hooking up.  You remind me of myself at your age.  Except straight.”

Ward thinks he might be beaming.

  
  


Coulson is (thankfully) not in the room when Ward gets back.  The shower’s running, Skye’s singing, and Ward might’ve just had the best night of his life.

“Skye,” he calls.  “You good?”

Her singing stops.  “I’m good, roomie,” she yells back.  “Hold on!”  The shower turns off.  The bathroom door opens, letting out a stream of light and steam.  Skye’s wearing a different towel.  Her personal towel, not one of the white ones from the pool.

“Who was that, by the way?” Skye asks.  She looks like an angel, with steam around her shoulders.  “In Fury’s office.”

“Well, he’s my-” Ward starts.  How to describe John Garrett.   “I think he’s like to me what Coulson is to you.”

“Aw,” Skye says.  “That’s so sweet.”

“John Garrett is anything but,” Ward says.  He’s teasing.  Mostly.

“You’re not in trouble, are you?” she asks.

“Nope,” Ward says.  “John’s happy I’m getting out.”

Skye lightly pushes his side.  “Stick with me,” she says.  “And you’ll get out more often. He remembers what her body felt like against his.  Her skin.  Her breasts and the points of her-

“I should shower,” Ward says.  “I’ve got chlorine in my hair.”

“I’ll probably be asleep when you get out,” Skye tells him.  “I’m thinking of cutting History of SHIELD and sleeping in.  We could get mid morning coffee, if you wanted.”

He smiles.  “I would want that, yeah.”

She gets on the tips of her toes, like she’s going to whisper in his ear.  He leans down.  Her lips brush against his cheek.

“Goodnight, Grant,” she says.  “I’m glad you had fun.”

  
  


He doesn’t touch his cheek until he is safely in the bathroom, with the door locked behind him.  He leans against the wall.  Skye’s lips.  His cheek.  His lips.  And her body.  Her body and the pool and the sensation of two pieces fitting perfectly together.

He can do this.  He can.  For her.  For himself.

 

\--

 

** At Last **

It’s warm in November, and that gives him more hope than he’s used to having.  That, and whenever he looks at Skye he can distinctly remember that her boobs were pressed against him not three days, eight hours, and seventeen minutes ago.

“Skye,” he says, and he prays that for once he can just get this right.  “Do you want to go get coffee?”

She’s awake early today, another unusually good omen, texting on her bed with her legs up and her face pressed forward into her knees.

“Sure,” she says.  “Right now?”

He hadn’t thought of that.  Think of something.  Say something!  “Yes,” he decides.  “Right now.”

She slides off the bed with ease, and if she notices that Ward is just standing there, blinking and trying to remember how breathing works, she’s nice enough not to say anything.

“Gimme five minutes to get decent,” she says, turning on the tap in the bathroom.

“You look decent now!” he says.

She laughs.  “Thanks, roommie,” she says.

  
  


He changes tee shirts six times in five minutes, which is stupid given that his tee shirts only come in navy, black, and white.  He had a gray one, but Fitz lit it on fire last Tuesday.

“White,” Skye notes, pulling her hair into a ponytail.  “A good choice.”

“You think so?” he asks.

“You only own three colors of shirt,” she says.  She shrugs a brown sweater over her shoulders.  “I like white.  It looks good on you.”

“What?” he squeaks.  She tosses his windbreaker at him, and it hits him square in the face.

“Come on,” she says.  “I’m hungry and you promised coffee and muffins.”

“There’s going to be muffins?” he asks.

“I’m getting blueberry,” she decides, and they’re out the door.

  
  


The walk is ten minutes, and he uses the time to promise himself twenty times, at least, that he will get coffee, sit down, look her in the eye and say “Skye, I’m in love with you.”  In that exact order.  It’s foolproof.

Until he walks into the door of the coffee shop.  Which, who even put that there?  How long has it even been there for? 

“Watch it, big guy,” Skye says, pulling him back to examine his forehead.  “You good?”

He stares down at her.  Her fingers ghost along his forehead.

“I’m good,” he says.  “Sorry.  Stupid.”

“You’re fine,” she tells him.  “Not even a bump.”  Her fingers trace along his hairline, like she’s double-checking.  It feels nice.  Right.  He could tell her right now.  No.  No, he has a plan.  He has a plan for this.  Get the door.

“You still want a muffin?” he asks her.  Smooth.  Incredibly.  She withdraws her hand.

“Are you paying?” she asks.

He freezes.  Is he paying?  Is he supposed to pay?  Oh no.  Oh no.  She pushes him lightly.  In the chest.  Right over his heart.

“Relax,” she says.  “It’s on Coulson.”

  
  


Her drink takes longer than his.  So he prepares himself.  He might be mouthing the words out, because Skye sits down and looks at him like he’s lost his mind.  He’s been losing his mind all morning, actually, but that’s okay because Skye is here and she has her coffee and he just has to open his mouth and tell her and he smiles and-

“We should go back to our room,” she says, picking her coffee up off the table.

He frowns.  “Are you-I was going to-”

She’s standing up.  She’s standing up and this is not part of the plan.

“Wait, okay?” she tells him.  Wait for what?  “Let’s eat in our room.”

He has to rush to pull his jacket back on.  And he remembers not to walk into the door.

  
  


“Skye,” he starts, “I think maybe we should-”

“Come on,” Skye tells him.  She’s not looking at him.  That has to be a bad sign.  That and the way she drags him by the wrist, less fond and more urgent, like he’s messed up big time.  He has messed up big time.

“I’m sorry,” he says, under his breath.

She shakes her head.  The wind is picking up, whipping her hair into her face. “Let’s just get back to our room, okay?”  Faster winds.  It’s getting colder.

He looks up.  “Do you think it’s going to-”  It is going to rain.  Right now.  Right on their heads.

He wonders what higher power he angered, when he did it, and if he can fix it.

“Come on,” he tells her.  Now he’s dragging her, pulling her across the campus lawns and under trees in some effort to keep dry.  It’s not really working.  His hair’s slick against his forehead, shoes getting soaked on the wet grass and why is this campus so big?  Really?  Did they need this much space?  And why did it have to be November?  The rain is freezing, ruining any ideas Ward might’ve still had that this could be a good day.

“Ward,” Skye says, and tugs on his wrist.  “Ward, slow down!”

He digs his heels into the mud.  He’d been running.  He’d been dragging her along and she’s shaking.  Cold and damp with her hair slicked down and he’d been so focused on getting her inside, on fixing his stupid mistakes that he’d completely forgotten that she was in nothing but a sweater and a tank top.  Both of which are stuck to her completely, and she must be absolutely miserable.  He’s such an idiot.  Such an idiot.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.  “Hold on.”

He pulls her under an oak tree with a few leaves left, and hides her under his height and his bowed head.

“You’re shaking,” he says.  

She doesn’t deny it, not until he’s pulling off his windbreaker.  “Hey!” she says, grabbing his arm.  “You should stay dry.  I’m fine.” 

“It’s okay,” he tells her.  “Promise.”  He slides the jacket off and hands it to her, watches as she slings her skinny arms into the too-big sleeves and then zips up, all the way to her chin.  The sleeves hang lower than her hands reach, but she’s stopped shaking.

“There,” he says.  “Better?”  The rain is cold, soaking him through already.  She looks up at him with wet cheeks and glittering eyes.

“Grant,” she says.  “I know what you were going to say to me back there.”

A chill runs through him.  Not because of the rain.  “Oh.”

“You’re so stupid,” she says.  He’s about to apologize, for everything, for even daring to exist in the same space as her, when her hands cup his cheeks.  Well, her hands through the slick plastic of his windbreaker.  “I can’t kiss you over coffee.  You’d get too embarrassed.  I was at least hoping we could wait until we got back to our room, but-”

“Wait,” Ward says.  “Wait.  You’re not mad at me?”

She smiles at him, letting the rain roll down her cheeks.  “No, Grant.  I’m not mad.”  And she stands on the tips of her toes, sneakers digging into the mud, and pulls him down so that she can kiss him.  Her lips are against his, soft and damp.  Just like that.

  
  


He feels at once weightless and electric and  _alive_.  He wraps his arms around her, and his tee shirt is soaked and he’s soaked, too, but does it really matter?  Does anything besides this really matter at all?  He feels the scrape of Skye’s teeth and when he whines she digs her fingers into his cheeks, like she’s afraid he might slip away.  So he runs his hands along her back, to reassure her that absolutely nothing in the universe could pull him away from this moment.  From her.  He’s exactly where he belongs.

“Grant,” she whispers, pulling her head back just a hair.  “We should get inside.”

He looks at her lips, watches her form the his name with her tongue and he kisses her again, grabbing her hair, tugging, begging to stay here, forever.  “We don’t have to,” he whines, kissing at the corners of her lips. 

“We can keep going inside,” she says.  She’s pinned against the tree, pressed against him.  He kisses her neck.  He feels her sigh.  She likes that.  He does it again.  “Grant,” she says, softer now.  “Wouldn’t you rather do this in your own bed?”

Um, yes.  She feels him still and giggles against him.  He holds her tightly, still, blocking her from the rain, breathing in time with her and feeling her hands slide up under his shirt.  Her nails trace up and up and-

“Hey!” he yips, louder than he should.  He jumps back.  Okay.  Boy nipples are sensitive, apparently.  No one told him this.  And it’s not like he would’ve checked on his own!  But Skye is grinning at him, in his windbreaker that swallows her whole, and she grabs him by the hand and they’re running through the mud again, back to their room.

  
  


The door slams behind them and Ward’s windbreaker hits the floor and Skye’s are are on around his neck and she’s is kissing him with a ferocity that makes him weak in the knees.

“God,” she whispers.  “I thought you’d never come along.”  She smiles at him, with her still dripping hair and her rain-slick skin, soft and warm and she even has water on her eyelashes, little drops reflecting the light from the window and she-

“Grant,” she says.  He’s Grant now, and it’s perfect.  “Say it.”

“What?” he asks.  She sways against him, hips aligned with his, fingers in his hair.

“What you were going to say to me, over coffee.”

He’s not sure he can.  But he’s come this far.  “Skye,” he says.

“Grant,” she repeats.  She can see he’s nervous.  She always can.  She’s teasing him.

“I’m in love with you,” he says.  “I’m really, really in love with you.”

She kisses him, hard, with tongue this time.  With.  Tongue.  He’s not even totally sure how to use his tongue back, but she’s barely using hers, just poking it between his lips, so he figures he should be gentle with it.  He doesn’t want to lick her face.  He’s not a dog.

Then she nips at his lower lip, for good measure.  Her hands are on the hem of his shirt, now, and his heart stops beating.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

She lifts her hands.  “I was going to take your clothes off,” Skye says.

Ward blinks.  “Why?”

Skye tilts her head.  “Because they’re soaking wet?” she says.  “And we can’t have sex if we’re in our clothes.”

  
  


Oh.  OH.  That.  Sex.  She wants to have sex.  This is it.  This is it.  Today, Grant Ward, you become a man.  Hopefully.

“You want to have sex with me?” he asks.

“Wow,” Skye says.  She takes a step back.  Like his doubt is actually, physically pushing her.  Come back, he wants to say, but he’s not sure if it’s the right thing to say. “Okay.  Ward. I don’t want to pressure you.  You know that, right?”  No, not Ward again.  Crap.  “Do you want to have sex with me?”

“I’m a virgin,” he tells her, so quickly and suddenly that he thinks it might’ve spilled out of him, like someone knocked over a glass.

“I know,” she says.

“You know?”

“Simmons told me,” she says.  “And I kind of figured.”

“Oh,” Ward says.

“Not like that,” Skye tells him.  “Not because of whatever self-loathing reasons you’re thinking of.  Only because you just seem so private.  I couldn’t imagine you opening up like that to someone.”

He wonders when she got inside his head, dug her heels in and refused to leave.  Left the marks of her soles on every surface of his subconscious.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” he says.  “You can have any guy and I’m just-”

“You’re amazing,” Skye says.  Arms hanging at her side.  Fingers flexing.  “I don’t know what you tell yourself, Grant, but you are.”

“I’m boring,” he tells her.

“No,” she says.  “You’re not.”

“What if I suck at this?” he asks.  “What if I’m terrible?”

“It won’t be terrible,” Skye says.  “Because it’s you and me.  And I love you.  And that means more than anything else.”  

  
  


He hadn’t been expecting her to say it back.  He thought it would give it to her, for her to keep forever, and maybe she’d smile at him a little brighter sometimes.  But he never thought she could  _love him_ love him.  Maybe like him.  Maybe be fond of him.  Maybe sometimes let him touch her boobs.  But.

“You love me?” he asks.  He steps forward.  Shoves down his doubt.  Way down.

Skye bridges the gap between them.  “Yeah.  I do,” she says.  She reaches for his shirt again, and he lets her.  She rolls it up, and it feels good, having his wet shirt peeled off his skin.  He lifts his arms and she has to stand on the tips of her toes,  just to reach up to his elbows.  He takes it from there.  The shirt lands on the floor in a wet thud.  He reaches for her sweater, clinging to the lines of her arms.  He pulls it over her shoulders, down her arms, until it is off and he is touching her tank top.  It’s sopping wet.  Stuck right to her bra, her stomach, the little indent of her belly button-

“Come on,” she teases.  “You’ve already seen me naked.” He has.  It was amazing.  Her shirt is so tiny.  He takes it off with both hands, up and over her bra and her arms.  Her bra is pink.  He’s seen her bras a thousand times hanging over the sink but now it’s real and in person and it’s holding her boobs.  She moves her hair up, turns around, so that he can look at the band around back and the clasp resting over her spine.

“Wanna go for gold?” she asks.  Oh God.  Don’t panic.  He didn’t take an entire semester of bomb diffusion just to freeze up when the most important moment of his young life arrived.

“Um,” he replies.  That’s all he can think of, really.  His fingers brush along the line of her spine.  She shudders, and on instinct he wraps his arms around her.

“Grant,” she says.  “I can help you, if you want.”

“Okay,” he whispers, and when his fingers touch the pink fabric of her bra clasp he feels sparks roll through his stomach.  Her hand comes around her back and nudges at his fingers.

“There,” she says, putting his fingers where they need to be.  “Unhook it.”

He tugs at it, maybe expecting for it to come undone like a bow or a knot but all that happens is that Skye laughs at him.  He furrows his eyebrows, pulls her a little closer so that he can investigate.  She said unhook it.  Meaning that it hooks, meaning that the top part has to be pulled  _back_ before it’s pulled _up._ The metal hooks click against the little eyes as Ward slowly unhooks it, with one hand on the under part and one hand carefully slipping out the over part.  And he’s done it, he’s unhooked a bra, he has taken the bra off of a real live girl, he has touched Skye’s bra and nothing in the whole world will ever beat this moment.

  
  


Then Skye turns back around, slips the straps down her shoulders and with a wicked grin she peels the cups off her breasts, tossing the pink thing to the ground with her tank top.   And he was wrong.  He was so wrong, because this has to be the best moment of his life, this exact instant where Skye’s boobs are right there, not in the dark of the pool, not hidden behind a towel, but there, right there, and she’s not hiding them from him or anything.

She grabs his hands and puts them over her breasts and it’s perfect, it’s the most perfect thing in the whole wide world, in the vastness of space and time, nothing will ever be as soft or as wonderful as Skye’s breasts.

“Wow,” he says, without meaning to.  She arches her back just enough to press herself more firmly against his hands.  He’s supposed to do something now, probably.  Maybe squeeze them?  Can he do that?  Try it.  Try it.  He does.  She lets out a pleased little noise, puts her hands over his.

“You can do what you want,” she says.  He kisses her, presses against her with a anxious need that eats at him from the inside out.  He picks her up and places her, gently, on his bed, and her jeans are still wet and so are his but she’s under him, kissing him, and he whines and whines because she is Skye and he has to remember between her flurry of kisses that she is topless and he has full permission to touch her.

  
  


He rests his head on in between the crook of her shoulder and sighs.  She is warm and smells like coffee and flowers and everything right with the world.  Her hands are on his belt and he promises himself he’s not nervous, not even when his belt comes undone, then his top button, then his fly.  He traces his fingers along her sides.  She has scars over her ribs that he’s afraid to ask about.  She gets goosebumps when he strokes a line up from her belly button to in between her breasts.

She puts her hand down his pants and she barely touches him but the thought of it is enough to make him buck his hips.

She laughs, softly, grasp the back of his head and guides him to her breasts and-she wants him to kiss her boobs?  Is that it?  He places a kiss right above her areola, where her heart beats.

“You’re supposed to suck on them,” she tells him.  Oh.  Oh.  Okay.  He can do that.  He gives her nipple a flitting lick, first, to test her reaction, to make sure that she likes him and his tongue and her tongue on her.  She sighs.  He does it again, and she wiggles a little, presses her hand a little harder against the bulge in his boxer-briefs.

  
  


When he sucks on her, she grabs his dick through his underwear and he doesn’t mean to groan, but he does, and his mouth is still on her and she moans back and she’s rubbing him harder, now.  Okay.  Okay.  He grinds against her hand.

“What do you want?” she asks.  He’s still playing with her breasts.  He would answer, if he wasn’t rolling her nipple against his tongue.  So he whines, low in his throat, and shifts his hips.  She slips her fingers under the elastic.  “Is this what you want me to do?” she asks.  He nods.  He thrusts up, begging her as hard as he can.  Please, Skye.

  
  


When she wraps her hand around him, his world goes still.  He presses his face against her chest and shudders, groans, feels her fingers grab him and touch him and take him and God, it’s not like he’s never done this to himself but this is Skye’s hand and Skye is touching him and oh, God.

“Do you want to keep going?” Skye asks him.  She keeps pumping him, lightly, not gripping him with any sense of urgency but he still feels like her hand and her body and her voice are the only things in the universe.  “Grant.  Do you want to have sex?”

She grips him a little tighter.  Does he want to have sex?  He could do this forever, touch her and have her touch him back, soft and gentle and warm, he could keep his body pressed against hers and his lips moving in silent prayers against her skin. 

“God, yes,” he says, resting his chin up on her chest, gazing at her face and the curve of her lips.   “Please.”  His mouth is talking without his brain really thinking, speaking for his body because that’s all he knows.

  
  


She pulls away from him and he could cry.  He knows that she’ll be back but he needs her near him always, so that he can feel his skin against hers and kiss her lips and bask in her light.  But he knows where she keeps her condoms, and he knows she’s getting one and he should take his pants off.  He fumbles, kicking his legs as he pulls of his pants as fast as he can manage.  He’s pressing against his underwear, straining, waiting for her to come back and take him.  Oh God.  She’s going to take him.  She’s going to have her way with him.  He rubs himself through his boxers and one hand is in his sheets because Skye, Skye is going to fuck him into the bed.

“You took your pants off,” Skye says.  “Now I feel silly.”  She puts the condom wrapper by his pillow and takes off her pants and underwear in one go.  Ward can’t help himself; he wraps his arms around her waist, he presses his cheek against her lower stomach and his fingers search her skin of their own accord.  She breathes slowly, takes in the words he whispers into her skin, “Please,” and “I love you,” and “You’re beautiful.”

“Get on your back,” she tells him, rubbing the back of his head.  “Let me lead, okay?”  He nods his head against her.  She pulls him back by his shoulders, kisses his forehead, his cheek, his lips, and her lips have a slowness and a sweetness to them that he hadn’t felt before.  And just like that she pulls back and smiles softly at him, and with an inhale he finds his place on his back and she reaches for the condom now laying by his head.

  
  


He wants to help her, but he’s afraid he might mess up, and so he watches her pull his underwear down and place a kiss at the base of his-

He jerks his hips at the touch of her lips.

“You’re adorable,” she says.  She slides her hands up her legs, making him shudder.  She rips the wrapper and rolls the condom over him, and the return of her hand makes him groan with pleasure or anticipation or nerves.  He’s not really sure.

She straddles his stomach, and she’s pressed against him and she’s wet and he’s twitching, panting, anxious and eager.  She leans forward and puts his hands up by his head, laces her fingers through his and presses a kiss to his lips.  Her hips lift off his stomach and it’s coming, he knows it’s coming and-

  
  


She is the most perfect thing he has ever felt, has ever touched or been near or thought of.  She feels like safety and home and warmth.  She shifts her hips on him.

“Good?” she asks.

“Hnnh?” he says, arching his back, trying to press as deeply inside her as he can, trying to tell her he loves her and she’s perfect and he’s hers, always hers.  She guides his hands to her hips, pulling her fingers away, letting him grab her hips with frenzied desperation.  He holds her tightly and he can lift her up just enough to make her wiggle, and he thrusts into her again and again and oh, God-

“Grant,” she says, pushing down on his chest.  “I’ve got you, okay?” 

  
  


He lets out a breath.  He settles his hips back down on the bed, resisting the urge to arch his back and put fingerprints on her hips from gripping so tightly while he, he-

She’s rolling her hips on him.  She’s digging her fingers into his pecs, rocking herself slowly, letting out little moans.  She’s just getting started, he realizes.  He has no idea how he’s going to keep up.  She looks at him, beads of sweat starting to appear on her hairline.  She leans down, kisses his forehead.

“Relax,” she whispers.  “Just let me make you feel good.”

“Hng,” he says.  “You,” he manages, after a moment.  “You always make me feel good.”  She smiles at him, before wrapping her arms around him, pressing her breasts against him, sucking on his earlobe.  He shudders and moans and writhes in her embrace.  She is consuming him, every part of him, with her hips and her voice and her warmth.

  
  


“Grab my ass,” she tells him.  He does.  “Sit up.”  It takes a minute.  He holds her to him, sits up slowly, carefully, while she keeps her hold on him.  “Edge of the bed,” she tells him.  “You think you can move to the edge of the bed?”  He tries.  She has to slide off him and he could cry, but she guides him with patience and soft words and when he’s right where she wants to be, she hooks her legs around his waist and he’s home again.

“Good boy,” she tells him, when he starting meeting her thrusts.  He fucks her harder.  He needs to hear it again.

He sucks on her neck.  “Say it-” she twitches around him and he forgets how to speak, needs to remember, needs to- “Say it again, please?”

“What?” she asks.  Her lips are right by his ear, her voice is so sweet and he loves her so much.  “You’re a good boy, Grant,” she says.  “You feel so good.”

He whines and moans back, his nose and his lips leaving an impression in her skin.  He’s a good boy.  Just for her.  All for her.

He wants to stay like this forever but she’s so good, she’s so wonderful and he’s getting so close but he needs to please her he does.

“Grant,” she says, when she clenches against him and he loses his mind. “Do you want to come?”

He nods against her.

“Just wait for me,” she says.  “Let me get there.”  She lets loose.  She fucks him in a way that is selfish and wanting and she takes pleasure from him, in the way he begs her and the way he holds her tight.  

“Please,” he says, and he’s not sure how.  “Skye, please.”  What’s he begging for?  He’s not sure.  He has everything he ever wanted.

She doesn’t reply with her words.  She digs her teeth into his shoulder and shrieks and he realizes why and then he yells, with her, to her, for her.  She gave this to him.  She loves him she loves him she’s perfect.  God.  She’s perfect.

  
  


She nuzzles the side of his neck.  He has to remember how to speak, first, before he tells her that he loves her with all of his heart, so he just draws circles into her back with his fingertips until his speech comes back.

“You know I have to go home tomorrow morning,” she says.  “For break.”

He nods.

“I’m just-” she says, and she pulls off him slowly, standing up, swaying, running a hand through her hair while he stares up at her and studies the beauty marks on her hips and her arms and the scars on her skin.  “It’s so stupid because I’m going to be gone for like three days but I’m really going to miss you?”

Words.  He remembers words.

“How was I?” he asks.  Maybe not those words.  They just came out. He’s still sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Great,” she says.  She ruffles his hair.  “And you know, practice makes perfect.  We’ve got all day and I have a whole box of condoms.”

“Skye?” he asks.  “What are we?”

Something flickers in her eyes.  It makes him antsy.  It makes him curious.  “We’re Skye and Grant,” she tells him.  “Grant and Skye.  We’re us.”

  
  


He smiles up at her.  “I love you,” he says.  And she smiles like she’s always known he has.


End file.
